To Fly into Flying
by Right or Ryn
Summary: AU: "Um, yes, well thank you, Professor, er, Dumbledore, was it? We appreciate your offer, but you see, Hermione can already do magic, so this schooling of yours really isn't necessarry."
1. Lion's Heart

**Disclaimer**: I guess I have to put one of these useless things up, but this will be the only time. If you honestly think that I'm JK Rowling and own any of this you need to stop, look at your browser, and realize you're on _fanfiction. _Enough said.

* * *

"Oh, how adorable. Would you look at the little dear? In that outfit I could just eat her up," The older woman standing in front of the door cooed, determinedly reaching out her left hand to pinch the child's cheek.

"ROAR!" the precocious two-year old in a lion costume snapped at the offending hand producing chuckles from her father.

"Well I never…" the shocked older woman sputtered, cradling her hand close to her body while staring at the strange little girl who had started to purr contentedly.

William then decided to step forward, and picking up his purring cub he started off, whispering in Hermione's ear that she could have some candy in the car. Jane inwardly grinned, those two got along so well, and to think William had once thought he'd be a bad father! Honestly.

"I'm sorry Mrs. Brown, I think tonight might've been a little too much for Hermione. Thank you for the candy, and the darling baby blanket. The post brought just this morning." Jane said diplomatically tossing a furtive glance to her husband who had playfully started tossed their hyperactive cub in the air producing squeals of delight. Jane could barely fight off her smile. She had to make sure to keep Mrs. Brown on her good side, babysitters were hard to find these days, especially those who charged little to nothing like Mrs. Brown, whose last child had just gone off to University this fall. She needed Mrs. Brown, especially now with a new baby on the way.

"Oh it was no problem at all Jane dear. The new baby should be coming any day now, hmm?" The now amiable older woman smiled. A few more minutes of small talk and Mrs. Brown was satisfied. With one last "Don't be a stranger," Jane was able to walk to the waiting car, William having already strapped Hermione in her car seat. She had to constantly remind herself that she needed the older woman, but couldn't help her annoyance towards the old busybody. Her patience kept getting shorter and shorter the further into her pregnancy she got, and she still had two and a half more months to go.

Jane had had her reservations when William had declared a few weeks prior that Hermione, who was only two years old, was going to go trick or treating this year. She had half-heartedly tried all the usually protests, she's too young, it's too dangerous, too late. She had even tried saying that all that candy would rot her teeth, however William would have none of it and had even gone out and bought her a costume.

On their last visit to the zoo, a couple of days before William's pronouncement, Hermione had become quite taken with the lions. After walking around the zoo all afternoon, they stopped to get something to drink from one of the venders while little Hermione surreptitiously unbuckled herself from her stroller and teetered over to the lion pit. With her tiny hands wrapped around the bars, she peered over the edge until one had come close to the railing and roared at her, and without missing a beat or showing the least bit of fear, she roared back, almost as if she understood.

Following that incident Hermione had started roaring at everyone and everything as if she was a lion. She'd come up with a new game where she'd sneak up on someone, roar, and then run away giggling each time like it was the funniest thing in the world, it was even worse than peek-a-boo. So, naturally, William had gone back to the zoo and gotten her a lion costume from the gift shop, not knowing the terror his actions would release on their household.

For the past fifteen days Hermione had refused to wear anything but the lion costume, and on top of that William had taught her the notorious Halloween song, of which she had taken to singing constantly. "Twick oh treat, (mumble, mumble) feet! Geh me somefin good to eat!" with a few roars thrown in here and there, could be heard at all hours around the Granger house. Jane knew when to pick her battles, and up against all of that opposition she had relented and given her permission for Hermione to participate in the holiday. She didn't know who was happier, her daughter or her husband.

In the car ride home Hermione was strangely silent. Her constant chatter had been a fixture in their house since she started talking at quite a young age. She'd always been a fast learner. Jane turned to see her passed out in her car seat with her hood fallen off and her normally mussed up curly hair even more so tonight after being forcibly caged in the hood for hours.

"Poor baby must be exhausted," Jane muttered worriedly, her hormones in overdrive, before rounding on her husband. "I told you that this would be too much for her William. I told you,"

"Jane, she's fine. She's just tired is all. Look, we're already home." William defended, pulling their car into the driveway.

Jane got out of the car and moved to go get Hermione, who still hadn't woken, out of her seat but doubled over in pain clutching her abdomen feeling as if someone had just drove a knife into her stomach and twisted. Hard. William rushed over to her side, concern evident on his face.

"We need to get you inside Jane, now."

"No, no. I'm fine." She attempted, before gasping as the phantom knife twisted savagely.

"Now Jane."

"But Hermione-"

"She'll be fine. She's out cold. I'll come back and get her as soon as I put you to bed." He put his arm around his wife's shoulder and half-walked, half-carried her up the stairs and threw the front door.

William knew Jane hated people fretting over her, but he couldn't help his concern for his pregnant wife. Whereas when Jane had been pregnant with Hermione, bossy little thing kicked constantly and gave her mother no end of trouble. However this baby, another girl, was relatively quiet and the pregnancy was much, much easier, or so he had thought. He'd never seen anything like this when she was had Hermione.

Closing the door behind him, William continued to lead his wife to their room when he heard a thud to his right.

He quickly jerked his head in the direction of the noise and peered into the darkness. "Who's there?" He questioned forcefully, unconsciously moving so as to put himself between his wife and the would-be intruder.

William almost thought he'd imagined the noise but then a silhouette of a man became visible as he, and it was unmistakably a he, crossed in front of the window. Even though he had been expecting it, he still started at the suddenness of it all. Suddenly another creak at his back alerted him to the presence of yet another shadow-man. This was all too surreal. It was Halloween night and there was Freddy standing in front of him and Jason behind him. This had to be a joke.

"Look, just take what you came here for and leave." William said cautiously, glancing at Jane who nervously started to stare out towards the car and Hermione, but stopped herself not wanting to alert the thieves to the presence of their daughter if they didn't know already.

"Step aside _muggle_" the figure in front of him snapped with such hatred William almost did take a step back. The figure seemed to glide forward raising a stick perpendicular to his body, pointing threateningly at Jane. William almost groaned. These men were hostile as well as crazy. He sensed something at his back and saw the shadow-man fumble at his side and raise a silver something that glinted in the moonlight.

"Jane go," William whispered urgently before pushing his wife to the side and rushing the man brandishing the long stick.

Jane hurried towards the door as quickly as she could but couldn't help but stop abruptly when she heard a thud. She turned and watched with horror as a bright green light struck William in the chest. Gasping with terror or pain, she wasn't sure which, Jane dropped to her knees. When she finally looked up two dark figures were towering above her menacingly and with all the thoughts rushing through her head a mile a minute she only managed to croak out one word: "Why?"

"An Heir is at this residence, and it cannot be allowed to live," the dark figure wielding the strange branch said.

Jane widened her eyes and clutched her stomach protectively, "My baby."

"Yes," he took a step forward and smiled menacingly, "Your baby."

* * *

"Bucky get back here!" Phillip panted, chasing after a white streak of fur who continued off down the street. Cats, incredibly stubborn, willful creatures that were more trouble than they were worth if you asked him.

Phillip almost gave up when Bucky turned sharply to the left and ran up someone's driveway. Hesitating only a few moments at the thought of trespassing on someone's property, Phillip decided to get on with it when he finally saw Bucky stop in front of a white mini-van. Cautiously, Phillip looked around to see if anyone could see him before creeping up behind Bucky and scooping him into his arms. When Bucky hissed and scratched Phillip was so shocked he dropped the cat and muttered a curse. It was then that he looked inside the car and saw a pumpkin filled with candy and a little girl with brown hair in a Halloween costume. That was confusing. Halloween was last night, yet this child was still strapped into her car seat.

Forgetting about his cat, Phillip opened the door and managed to extract the child from the troublesome seat and lifted her into his arms.

The curly haired bundle slowly opened her eyes and blinked rapidly, using small hand small hands to wipe at her face. Confused at what was happening around her she looked up at Phillip, but before she had a chance to think about what was happening Phillip asked her a question, hoping that she was old enough to understand and answer. "Is this your house?"

When she nodded he started off towards the front of the house wondering who would leave their child all alone in a car overnight? He rang the doorbell and waited.

And waited.

And waited some more. What if they weren't home? Maybe something happened to them. What if they were hurt? With that thought in mind, Phillip hefted the brunette to his left hip and tried the door with his right hand.

It was unlocked and opened easily, but what he saw when he opened the door was anything but what he was expecting. He quickly raised his hand to shield the sight from the young girl's eyes and went out through the door.

His head was spinning. Help. He needed help. The police. Call the police. "Someone call the police!"

* * *

"-A massacre-"

"-Never seen anything like it in all my years on the force."

"-only two years old-"

"-left in the car all night-"

"-Father untouched. Heart attack?"

"-Mother cut to pieces. So much blood-"

"-pregnant. Baby ripped out-"

"-all dead-"

"-dead-"

"Dead- except her."

"The girl lived"

* * *

The scene at the Granger home was chaotic. No one had ever expected such a thing to happen in the quiet little neighbor of Clayton, and that was precisely why the couple, and many others, had picked it to raise a family. Low crime-rate, good schools, a nice park, lots of neighbors, lots of kids, it was thought the safest, most perfect place to raise a family- well apparently not.

Phillip had attracted the attention of a jogger who'd had a cellular phone handy, and after that everything was a blur. The police showed up and swarmed the area… as well as the entire neighborhood. Yellow tape that most had only seen on television covered the yard was the only thing keeping everyone from trampling up the front lawn, into the house to search for answers, for their incessant questions. This served to further agitate the crowd. What has going on? What happened?! However, even if the police were allowed to answer that question, they couldn't.

Harold Grigsby, the Clayton police chief, was at a loss, what had happened at this house was nothing short of a nightmare. It might have been a robbery gone wrong, but the attack was too personal, too gruesome for that. What had happened here was nothing short of cold-blooded murder, and he knew it. But who would have done this? The Grangers were dentists for Christ's sake. There was no MO. The two, no three, of them had been murdered and there was no one left but the girl. The girl. It was a tragedy, and the media would pounce all over it like the scavengers they were, catching the child in the crossfire. He had to get her out of here.

"Chief, this woman said she knew the Grangers," a rookie Grigsby couldn't put a name to pushed forward, breaking his train of thought, and pulling a woman near hysterics with him.

"I just saw them. I saw them just last night. They were trick or treating with little Hermione. They looked so happy, so happy!" the woman wailed. He had to put a stop to her train of thought. If the woman lost it now they wouldn't get a coherent sentence out of her. He needed her information.

"Miss," Harold took her hand, "What is your name?"

"Cecilia Brown," she answered automatically and started sputtering, "but wha-"

"Cecilia, I need you to think very, very carefully now. Do you know any relatives I could call for… Hermione is it? Yes Hermione. Grandparents? Anyone? Anyone at all?"

"No, no Grandparents. It's a shame. Jane's parents died when she was young and William's past away sometime last year, that's why they needed me to babysit little Hermione so often."

"Any Aunts? Uncles?" he fished. 'Please don't let her be alone, please don't let her be alone' Harold furiously hoped.

"I remember Jane telling me her older sister took care of her after her parents died, but she passed away this past December from breast cancer. Terrible thing, cancer is. Jane was ever so devastated when it happened."

"What about Dr. Granger?" he questioned.

"Well… yes, now that I think about it yes. I remember something about a sister. They went on holiday this summer with his sister and her husband and kids. Jane brought back pictures. The name was Buckle, no Puckle. Yes Puckle, strange name that. They live somewhere in Manchester I believe."

"Thank you Mrs. Brown, you've been more helpful than you realize." Grigsby said and nearly sighed with relief. Praying to God for strength, he steeled himself to call this Mrs. Puckle and deliver the dreadful news.

**AN**: Hello all. I've read more on this site than is probably healthy, but have yet to contribute to the multitudes fiction, until now that is. This story is going to be mainly Hermione-centric, so ye be warned. Furthermore, just to clarify, Hermione will be different in this story than from canon, remember this _is_ AU, and if something happens that doesn't follow the books, you know why. Hermione won't be so annoyingly bossy or as much of a little miss know-it-all who follows all the rules. I figure she's like that in the books because she didn't have any friends or siblings to turn to, and instead fled to books and rules for comfort. Don't worry, she's still as smart as she always was, except this time she's not alone.

Also, before it even gets asked as to why the Ministry didn't have Aurors over to clean up the mess, since it was obviously caused by magic, think about what day it is. It's the day after Halloween, and the day after Voldemort was "defeated". It's understandable how this could slip by the Ministry.

Comments and criticism are more than welcome, though constructive criticism is more so, and on that note I'm going to end the world's longest author's note before I lose all dignity and straight out beg for reviews.


	2. The Wonders of Reading

**A/N: **Andrew and Drew are entirely different people. Just wanted to clear up that up before there was any confusion

* * *

**Chapter One: The Wonders of Reading**

'Finally, a moment's peace,' Emma thought, collapsing onto her bed with a sigh. She'd been up from what felt like the crack of dawn, and her poor feet hadn't had a moment's rest since.

She loved her husband, honestly she did, but he was a bit thick sometimes, and it made her want to strangle him in the worst way. Lucky for him because: A) he was nowhere near Manchester right now and regrettably technology hadn't advanced to the point of causing bodily harm over the phone, and B) she would have been too tired to properly execute the job properly even if he was near enough.

From time to time Andrew forgot that unlike his mother, her only job wasn't to care for the children and clean house, but that she had a full-time job as well. Sometimes she felt that she'd physically be split in about a hundred different ways for all the directions she was pulled in. What with remembering Blake hated pulp in his orange juice, she had a parent-teacher conference with the twins' overbearing teacher, the car needed petrol, Ms. Bunker was going to be discharged (at last!), to grab her mobile off the charger, pick up the dry cleaning and get ribs at the grocer for dinner, and the thousands of other totally random daily tasks on her never-ending list, Emma was shocked she hadn't gone into a psychotic break-down. Thank God for babysitters. She could retain her sanity; she was strong.

But oh, how her feet killed.

'I need Andrew_'_ she thought in a moment of weakness before pushing it away. The day was over- finally. Everyone had been bathed, fed, and tucked in bed, just not necessarily in that order. Andrew would be coming home tomorrow and she'd demand one of his famous foot massages. And a back rub. Yes, a back rub would most definitely be welcome.

Allowing a smile to spread gradually across her face, Emma closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Alone time. That allusive myth that mother's only dream about.

It was time to pull out her latest book!

She nearly snorted at herself. The twenty-year old Emma would never have dreamed that in ten years time she'd rejoice at having an hour to read alone or possibly take a bubble bath (must do that later), yet here she was relishing this moment of solitude and silence.

Her current novel could be described as nothing other than chick lit. While most of the time she despised the overused, clichéd plots and lackluster characters, Emma didn't feel mentally up to reading deep and thought provoking classics like her usual Rand, Salinger, or Milton. She wanted something totally and utterly predictable with an unrealistic sappy 'Happily Ever After' ending because sometimes, she thought, you just need it.

Deciding to try out the novel one of the girl's from work had simply raved about, Emma leaned back against the antique oak headboard and draped the feather-down comforter over her knees. She was a couple of pages in and at the part where the sassy and spunky leading lady tripped over her fabulous three-inch designer stilettos and fell into the strong, capable arms of the tall, dark, handsome, and most importantly rich stranger and sure to be leading man who would fall in love with the heroine despite all her faults cause she was just too darn cute, when she felt the corner of the bed dip. Emma's guess as to what, or who rather, it was became apparent when she saw familiar riotous brown curls peak over her knees.

Opting to indulge the girl, Emma continued reading though her lips twitched furiously.

"Whatcha doin'?" the four and a half-year old finally scrambled over her knees to get a better view.

"Reading," she said, flashing the cover of the book at the young girl.

"Oh."

The child crawled over to Andrew's side of the bed and copied Emma's pose as best she could, grabbing a stray book that Drew had no doubt absently thrown down and left behind. In their house things were strewn every which way, there was absolutely no such thing as a "proper place", and anyone who would turn their nose up at how they lived obviously didn't have any children, let alone five.

Emma had closed her book and was now watching her own tiny copy cat, who for the last five minutes had been concentrating rather intently one the first page of whatever book she'd chosen.

"Hermione?"

"Um-hmm?" her eyes still locked on the page.

"What are you doing honey?"

"Reading." She turned the book so Emma could catch _A Bridge to Terabithia_ on the front cover.

Emma nearly chuckled but caught herself; she didn't want her young niece to think she was patronizing her. Hermione was quick to jump on the tone of voice used when someone talked with her, something that most children her age didn't notice until they were older.

"I remember your mother telling me that that was her favorite book when she was younger." She said slyly, knowingly. "Your father's was the _Lord of the Rings_ trilogy, he read it constantly and carried it around with him like it was an extension of his arm." She added almost as an afterthought, aware she had fully caught the girl's attention with her reminiscing.

"Did my Mum and Dad like to read?" Hermione's eyes were shining. She unconsciously hugged the book to her chest.

"Like to read? Hermione sweetheart, your parents _loved_ to read,"

Like most orphans, anything about her parents was an interest to Hermione. Her favorite thing in the world was to snuggle up in bed and have Aunt Emma and Uncle Andrew tell her stories about them, their life, and how much they loved her. She could listen to the same story a thousand times and never tire of it. She'd heard that they were doctors, dentists actually, that they met in University, got married in Italy where her Father and Aunt Emma were from, and were head over heels in love with each other… but she'd never heard that they loved to read.

"Both your parents were so, so smart Hermione, just like you." Hermione smiled shyly at the compliment but looked pleased at being compared to her parents who were heroes in her eyes.

Emma glanced at her niece and continued "They loved school. And were so bright and clever it was a little scary sometimes, especially Jane, your Mother. I can remember when William first met her. He came to me and said that he'd found the woman he was going to marry. And do you know where he met her?"

Hermione shook her head no, clutching the book tighter to her, eyes wide, completely riveted.

"In the library." Emma confided. "Your mother said that the only thing she loved more than books were you and your father. She read to you each and every night."

"Really?"

Emma nodded her head yes. She expected Hermione to say something else, to ask her another of her never ending questions. The girl's curiosity had led her into far more than a decent amount of trouble already. Emma had told her that 'Curiosity killed the cat,' , but she'd overheard Andrew finish the saying and now whenever she heard it, felt it her personal duty to intone the remaining line, 'and satisfaction brought it back,'. Instead, however, Hermione turned her attention back to the book, staring even more intently than she had before, if that was possible.

"Hermione?" the child swung her head over to look at her Aunt.

"Do you know what you're reading?" she asked. The girl was only four and half after all, barely that, and to the best of her knowledge, Emma couldn't remember her knowing how to read in the first place. "What about another book? Say, what about _When You Give a Mouse a Cookie?_ I could read it to you. Drew, Travis, and Will loved that book when they were your-"

"No thank you Aunt Emma, this book is fine." Hermione snuggled up against the pillows some more but otherwise kept her focus on the book. Emma let the interruption slide.

"Hermione, you can't mean to tell me that you can read that book, can you?" her disbelief extremely evident.

"I already know 'he', 'run', 'good', 'she', 'and', 'hair', and 'the very best'." She proudly pronounced, enunciating each word almost painfully slow, careful not to make any mistakes, as she pointed it out on the page. "I know a couple others too." She smiled and stubbornly went back to the task she had set herself.

Emma was still uncertain, and returned to her own book a little unsettled, but decided that humoring the girl wouldn't cause her any harm.

* * *

Hermione had taught herself how to read.

The how, a completely baffled Emma concluded she would never find out nor understand, but after four (extremely) long, determined months of carrying around a now raggedy copy of _Bridge to Terabithia,_ that appeared as if it was only held together by a hope and a prayer, Hermione had approached Emma asking for another book, stating that she finished what she was reading and wanted another one. And by one she meant book.

She wouldn't relinquish her old tattered copy of _A Bridge to Terabithia_ that seemed to defy all the laws of science by refusing to fall apart like a normal book would after being subjected to as much as Hermione put it through. Even when Emma promised to buy her a new copy she politely but nonetheless sternly refused. She'd taken that book with her everywhere, to the lake, the grocer, church, the boy's football matches, and it seemed she wouldn't part with it, easily or otherwise.

At first the boys had teased her mercilessly, and Emma had tried to step in, she'd wanted to step in, but Andrew intruded stating 'boys will be boys' and that Hermione had to learn to stand up for herself, or something along those lines. Silently part of Emma agreed, but she still had to restrain herself when she could see how some of the lighthearted, but teasing words nevertheless, got to the little girl. Though, instead of crying and pouting like most little girls were wont to do, when the twins took her book she retaliated by stealing their football, their autographed-by-the-entire-Manchester-Football-Club football.

Andrew had clapped Hermione on the back after that one stunt and applauded her ingenuity. Still, about three weeks in Emma broke down and informed Drew, her oldest son and the undoubted leader of her children, as to why Hermione felt the strong connection with books and the desire to try and read them. Drew then related the tale to the younger boys and after that, while it certainly wasn't smooth sailing, things ran much more easily in the Puckle household.

Still, Emma felt shocked when Hermione asked her for another book, saying something along the lines of "the one about the pretty ring my Daddy used to read". Oh, Emma had known that any child of her brother and sister-in-law would be intelligent, of that she had had no doubt, but a four (okay, almost five) year-old _teaching_ _herself_ how to read? Honestly! And from one book too. Was that even possible? Andrew wouldn't go through all this trouble just to play a joke on her, would he? It was a little too elaborate for his style, but still….

Emma came home one day with a pile of books from the library which Hermione immediately and gleefully pounced on and quickly devoured. The child was like Matilda. Soon, the shock and novelty of it all wore away and was replaced by acceptance and pride. The sight of the curly-haired ragamuffin with a book in hand became common place. In fact, one of the rare times she was seen without one was when she was sleeping or watching the latest Man U game with the rest of the family, that other obsession was purely Andrew's fault.

In fact, Emma had debated with Andrew long and hard about whether to send her on to school. She was certainly smart enough and ready to learn. Her insatiable curiosity would surely drive any lucky teacher to the brink of insanity and back, several times. One of her first words, besides 'no' was 'why'. The child was an inquisitive little bugger, but there was the issue of age. Blake and Hermione were roughly the same age and would be in the same year, that is, if Hermione didn't skip. When discussing it further it was decided that for now, they would keep her with Blake. They could always choose to move her up but they couldn't move her back so they decided to wait.

* * *

Fixing a snack for her kids a couple of weeks later, Emma was taken completely by surprise when Blake approached her practically barreling down the hall with unshed tears in his wide brown eyes. He ran straight into her arms and right after she picked him up the dam that had apparently been holding back the river of tears snapped producing waterworks and sound effects galore.

"Shh, Blake, shh. It's alright. You're okay." Emma massaged her son's back, murmuring soothing words in his ear, baffled as to what could make her son this upset.

When he finally calmed down enough to be semi-coherent, he let out gasping sobs in her ear, "Nobody will play with me anymore." Which was more like Nobody hiccup will sniffle play with hiccup me hiccup ANYMORE! sob.

Emma was well aware of how her older boys sometimes excluded Blake because he was younger, calling him Baby Blakey, and how deeply it affected the boy no matter how he seemed to shrug it off.

"What about Hermione? You can play with her," she pointed out comfortingly.

"Nuh-uh," he shook his head, wiping his face with one of his hands. "She doesn't like me anymore. All she wants to do is read her stupid books."

"Of course she likes you Blake. She just likes to read to, that's all." Emma corrected.

It was at that point that Blake then went on to explain how Hermione had sequestered herself in her room and hadn't come out except to eat and go to the restroom in three whole days.

Well shit.

That tidbit of information certainly took Emma off-guard. How could she not have known that? Emma took it as a blessing when Hermione started to read, she was always real quiet and easy now. But Emma hadn't noticed. She'd neglected her niece. What kind of parent was she to let that go unnoticed?

She'd explained to Hermione about the doors to other wonderful worlds books could open. How one could see into other times, into other people's lives, but she didn't mean for her to delve into those things, those lives, at the expense of her own. This was something she was unprepared for. None of the many parenting books and magazines she'd read had ever mentioned something like this happening. She was supposed to have to struggle to get her children to read, not struggle to make them stop. It was supposed to be black and white. Reading was good. She'd told that to Hermione and her other children countless times. How was she supposed to explain to the girl that she had to stop?

Despite being an exceptionally intelligent little girl, somehow Emma didn't think Hermione would understand.

After some more soothing, she sent Blake to go retrieve his father. This was a mess, and Andrew sure as hell would do his part in helping her sort everything off. She was not about to let him shirk his fatherly or unclely duties.

* * *

"Andrew, what are we going to do? We can't very well tell Hermione to stop reading now. Do you know how many mixed messages that'll send to a kid her age? Besides, she loves it! It'll be like punishing her, and she hasn't done anything wrong." Emma paced, her hands incessantly running through her curly dark hair, nerves bringing out the bad habit.

What a dilemma. On one hand they couldn't let Hermione read all the time, reading was a good thing and they'd praised her for doing it on numerous occasions, especially when her seemingly illiterate but really just lazy cousins were around, but on the other hand all this reading was taking away from her real life. She couldn't sit indoors all the time.

"Emma, don't be so uptight. You need to calm down." Andrew commanded in his 'coach voice' and then winced, immediately regretting his actions. He couldn't believe he just said that.

His wife rounded on him with a glint in her eye that he was all too familiar with. When Emma worked herself up like she obviously had now, it was not smart to say something that she could perceive as you bossing her around, even if it was done unintentionally. He had attracted her attention, making himself a target. Not good. The petite five foot one Italian spitfire could yell like none other and was intimidating as hell in a full-fledged rant. Strong, independent women were scary.

"Don't you dare to tell me to calm down Andrew Gerard Puckle." Emma then proceeded to yell at him in Italian which was a mixed blessing. It meant that she was really upset and worried, but it also meant that since Andrew hadn't ever learned Italian properly, he'd miss most of her tirade. Emma only spoke it occasionally, and that was usually when she was either visiting relatives or pissed off.

One guess as to which one this occasion was.

Andrew could pick out a few words like _ceffo_, _fesso _and _cacasodo _which he knew meant something along the lines of jerk (more like dick), stupid, and an arrogant asshole. Not good.

Emma opened her mouth and sucked in a deep breath for no doubt a continuation of her long-winded rant, but she was interrupted by an obnoxiously loud scream and deafening crash that sounded as if it came from down the hall. Double not good.

Immediately both adults rushed in the direction of the commotion and threw open Hermione and Blake's bedroom door just in time to see a crazed Hermione roar a fierce battle cry from her bed and pounce on Will, tackling him to the ground, fists flying. At Will's indignant screeches and howls of pain, Travis jumped into action, unable to let his twin fight undefended. Over in the corner Drew was attempting to comfort a near hysterical Blake who was sobbing and clutching a bleeding hand. The window by Hermione's bed was open and the shelf which housed the majority of the kids' books was somehow dangling precariously half in half out of it. At that moment if someone had said a hurricane had ripped through the room both Emma and Andrew would've believed them without a second thought.

In short, it was mass chaos.

Andrew bounded across the room while Emma rushed over to Drew and Blake, taking a twin in each arm, pulling harshly in an attempt to pry the boys off their cousin; however, a vengeful Travis had a fist full of Hermione's curls in a death grip, and it didn't look like he was planning on surrendering the brown locks anytime soon. Hermione, instead of heaving away from Travis's harsh pulling, rushed him so she couldn't feel the pain from his pull on her hair, and taking his scrawny arm in both hands bit down. Hard.

Travis relinquished his grip on her hair and emitted an ear splitting scream, but Hermione took her cousin's example and held a firm grip, much like that of a pit-bull. Unable to bare witnessing his twin receive such treatment, Will leaned across his father and started pounding on Hermione's back with his fists, teeth clenched in anger and determination.

Not often did the Puckle household get a chance to hear the affable Andrew raise his voice, but unfortunately for them, this was one of those times.

"That. Is. ENOUGH!" he bellowed. The extremely dark-complexioned former footballer of African descent cut an imposing and intimidating figure. If he didn't have such a congenial, laidback spirit he'd be more than simply intimidating. Yes, at six foot five, two-hundred some odd pounds intimidating didn't even begin to cover it.

The twins instantly went limp in his arms, no doubt attempting the raccoon 'I'm-dead-please-don't-hurt-me' defense. Almost comically Hermione released Travis' arm like it burned her, a row of deeply imprinted teeth-marks the only indication that she'd even touched him. Even Blake had stopped crying.

"Hermione, follow me," Andrew ordered as he marched out the door after exchanging a meaningful glance with his wife, sons that were still as limp as ragdolls under each muscled arm.

Hermione followed him, gradually getting over her astonishment. When Will tilted his head around his father's arm to glare at Hermione and stick his tongue out at her, the rage kicked back in full-force and all semblance of docility vanished. She balled up her diminutive hands in a threatening gesture and took a menacing step forward, now narrowed eyes flashing dangerously; however, before she could do anything, foolish or otherwise, Andrew halted abruptly.

Unceremoniously he dumped both boys on the ground of the parlor. Grabbing the piano seat, he pushed it against the wall and commanded that the boys sit down and stay down in a tone that broke no argument. Knowing what was coming next out of both common sense and experience, Hermione crossly dragged the spare chair from the wall and stuck it in the corner, making as much noise as possible to show her disapproval at being punished along the way.

"It's Time Out for the lot of you until we can get this mess sorted out." All three kids started grumbling, scrunching up their faces and crossing their arms; the usual warning signs of rebellion and mutiny in children under the age of eleven. "You are all well-versed in the rules by now. No talking and don't move your behind off your seat until I get back. Or else." Andrew threatened as he strode out of the room.

While Time Out was supposed to be a time where the prisoner in question had ample opportunity to sit back and reflect on their actions (in most cases in regret), all it did for Hermione was give her more time to fume, and all it did for the Twins was give them more time to goad their cousin whom they knew full well had a short and explosive temper like their mother. Yeah, most of the time it ended in bodily harm for the duo, but it was sure fun.

It wasn't fair, Hermione huffed. It was _all_ Travis and Will's fault. Especially Will, that doody-head. She had been minding her own business, bothering no one, innocently sitting in her room she shared with Blake reading when the Twins burst in through the door without even knocking, nothing but mischief on their minds, the heathens.

Will had wanted to see Hermione's book, but she didn't trust either of the boys with any of her books, least of which _A Bridge to Terabithia_, her favorite one of the lot. Will, obviously not about to take no for an answer from his younger _girl _cousin, reached over and tried to wrench the tattered copy from her hands, on which she had a surprisingly sturdy grip. That in turn resulted in about a two second tug of war match seeing as the book was already about to fall apart at the seams anyway. The paper-back split cleanly down the binding and pages started falling out, flying everywhere, much to Hermione's distress.

Not for one second did she even consider that it could've been an accident and that tearing the book hadn't been his intention all along. Consumed by an animalistic rage she threw back her head and screamed a scream that promised retribution, pain, but most importantly blood.

She was on Will before the poor boy had time to comprehend what was going on.

Several things happened all at once, shelves came off the walls and picture frames toppled to the ground. The enormous bookcase that held a majority of the younger Puckle children's books flew towards and partly out an open window, which produced the (loudest) crash. Clothes were ripped out of their drawers; a jumper flew on Blake's face, and unable to make out where he was going, he stumbled over a thick, hardback copy of Hans Christian Anderson's fairytales, falling to the ground only to land on several pieces of broken glass. Blake then became hysterical at the sight of his own blood, and Drew rushed over to help his little brother, yanking the glass quickly out of his hand, like ripping off a band-aid. That was right about the time her Aunt Emma and Uncle Andrew burst through the door, not looking very happy, of course Hermione was too busy to notice any of that then.

She waited and waited on her chair for what seemed like forever, no she'd waited even longer than forever. Finally, she peeked over at the despicable duo, only to notice they were standing up on their stool making rather rude faces at her. 'The nerve!' Hermione thought over and over, repeating a phrase she'd heard Aunt Emma shout on countless occasions and felt was appropriate now. 'Those bad boys! They make me so mad, I just want to- ugh!' Hermione's temper kept rising and rising. Travis turned around, bent over and tauntingly spanked his bottom a couple of times before sticking his tongue out at her again. Will was grinning and had his hands on his ears like moose antlers. How infuriating.

Through a cloud of adolescent fury all Hermione could think about was how much she wanted to teach those two a lesson. How she wanted to knock them off the stool. She thought back to Will heartlessly ripping her favorite book, the book that both she and her Mum loved, in half. Of Will hitting her and Travis pulling her hair. Of them teasing her for reading so much and being a girl. Of Will sticking his tongue out at her on their way to the parlor and now this! She couldn't take this much unfairness!

Hermione felt something building up inside of her besides a desire for justice; a pressure of sorts. She might have been disconcerted by the sensation if she wasn't so angry, and with each memory of the past hour she grew angrier, and the angrier she got, the more the pressure grew. Both boys continued their mocking dance, shaking and wiggling, enjoying the reaction it was producing in their cousin (they were waiting for the steam to fly out her ears), who they thought of as a little sister, and what's the good of a little sister if you couldn't tease her ruthlessly?

Meanwhile, the pressure in Hermione's body grew to such an extent she started shaking. 'I'm so mad I could scream… those horrible boys… I wish they would stop…push… I just want to push them… knock them off the bench… broke my book…that'll show'em…' Hermione thought, lost in her own silent tantrum. Finally, Hermione couldn't take it anymore and with the thought 'push' oddly standing out clear in her mind, she narrowed her eyes and was nearly knocked backwards as she felt a rush of… something, and the pressure, the tenseness in her body that had built loosen and dissipate rapidly.

Feeling strangely tired but somewhat pleased, Hermione noted both boys were on the ground liberally rubbing their backsides and wearing dresses of all things. She smiled. When Aunt Emma chose that exact moment to rush in the door and berate the boys for horsing around and not following their father's instructions her smile only grew, especially when the twins frowned at her.

* * *

**AN:** How'd you like the chapter? Let me know please.

This is AU so Hermione is going to be a little out of character. It's the whole Nature vs. Nurture scenario. Now I'm not sure one way or another which is definitely the dominate factor in determining a child's behavior, but I do know that nurture certainly plays an integral part. Basically Hermione won't be as Percy-like. She won't love authority as much and won't balk as much at breaking the rules (growing up in a household of boys will do that to you). She's not going to be friendless or alone most of her early life so changes are obviously going to happen. She won't be a Mary Sue either though, don't worry. Beyond that, you'll have to wait and see!

Thanks to all that reviewed so far (IE **Wasu** Harry's My Boy **siadh **EyesOfDlareme **Gred and Forge** haha) Much appreciated.


	3. Mission Control

**A/N: **This chapter wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it. I tried to be my usual lazy, procrastinating self, but it wouldn't let me. It bullied me. It pestered me. It followed me around to the point where I was seriously considering a restraining order. It just would not leave me alone. -I know, how mean, right? Anyways, on with the story.

* * *

_"_A friend is one who knows us, but loves us anyway,_"_  
--- Cummings

* * *

**Chapter Three: Mission Control**

"Bam! Bam! I got you Will, you're dead!" Hermione shouted gleefully, thrusting the hand that wasn't brandishing her plastic water gun in the air in celebration.

"Nuh-uh! Nuh-uh! No you didn't. You missed."Will yelled back, still running when he should have rightfully been lying prostrate face down on the ground, 'dead'.

Hermione exchanged a glance with Blake; he was just as mad as she was. They were having a water gun fight, two on two, out by the pool while Drew was out at his football practice which Aunt Emma said they were too little to participate in, despite many a pout and protest claiming otherwise. The Bookshelf Brawl, as it was so lovingly christened, was now a distant and not so fond memory. Months ago, after much deliberation and lost tempers, Emma and Andrew finally had resigned themselves to the fact that whatever had happened was a case worthy for the X-files. There was nothing more they could do, no matter how much they wanted to, unless two agents by the name of Scully and Molder happened by.

Not likely.

Blake had had to go to the hospital to receive stitches, and in the mayhem Hermione let the incident shift to the back of her mind. Instead, the confusion and concern for her cousin took its place, and only when she woke up sore and exhausted the next morning did she give it half a second's thought, if that. His eight stitches became quite famous around the neighborhood, and he thoroughly enjoyed all the attention; shamelessly flaunting his battle scar, regaling the crowd with ridiculous and farfetched tales of how the doctor stitched him up with a needle that was (at this point he spread his arms about a foot apart) 'this big'. With each "how brave you are!" he preened a little more and his ego grew. It got to the point where Hermione would make gagging noises every time Blake told his tale.

Now both Blake and Hermione had banded together, once again, like old times. They fell back on the sound logic that everything was the Twin's fault. All was well with the world and this water fight was a safe way to release their common, everyday frustrations with each other, to relieve the tension, and have a little fun without beating each other's brains in like mindless little savages- or at least that's what Uncle Andrew said. After all, Hermione was nearly six and a half years old now. Practically a grown-up.

But like most dealings with the twins, they weren't playing fair. Blake had been hit by Travis (in the back) and had dutifully gone down, playing dead like a pro. However, it seemed that the Twins were above the law that they themselves had set. How typical.

"I so did hit you Will! Get down, _you're dead_!" Hermione yelled again in frustration only to watch Will dance away shouting "You missed me, you missed me!"

Hermione twirled tightly in place wielding her plastic purple water gun before taking off after Will, keeping an eye out for an ambush. She spotted Travis' dark pigmented skin sliding along the concrete wall out of the corner of her eye and rounded on him, firing one-two-three quick, accurate shots directly in the middle of his chest.

"Ah ha! You're dead Travis. Get down," she grinned triumphantly, gesticulating towards the ground with each word she spoke.

"No I'm not. You didn't get me, I had my shield up," he stated haughtily, wagging his finger back in forth so much Hermione wanted to go over and rip them off one by one.

"You don't have a shield!"

"I do so, and you didn't hit me cause I had it up."

"I did hit you, you're wet Travis! I can see it!" she yelled in frustration.

"No I'm not," Travis argued obstinately, defiant. Hermione narrowed her eyes to slits and raised her gun in determination; she'd just hit him again, and in the face too. He wouldn't be able to argue that she missed this time.

"…now Will!" Travis shouted, hitting the ground. Hermione spun around just in time to see Will with a maniacal grin plastered on his face raise the water hose to her head. All she could do was sputter as the spray struck her momentarily dumb.

'Agh! Those cheaters!' Hermione thought savagely as the heavy stream of water beat down on her tiny frame, the pressure was too much. She brought her hands up in front of her face, and pushing out against the water she screamed. "STOP IT!"

Soaked and resembling a drowned cat with her hair sticking to the sides of her face, Hermione opened her eyes just in time to see Will fly-literally- into the pool with an enormous splash.

All four kids were slack-jawed, so stunned that they hadn't noticed Drew enter through the gate decked out in his practice equipment, football forgotten as it dropped from his limp hands and rolled into the pool. "What was that?" he questioned cautiously, the first to find his voice.

Hermione stared, unresponsive between her hands and the pool.

Travis shook his head, staring wide eyed dividing his attention between his twin and his cousin, "I don't know."

Blake propped half his body up on his elbows, through it all he'd remained on the ground. A slow smile blossomed on his face as he looked towards his cousin, "Me either. But it was cool." If it was possible, he smiled even wider. "Do it again."

* * *

"Hermione, come play with us!" Blake shouted with a whiny, yet endearing tone of voice only he could manage to pull off. From the field he made a spectacle of himself, waving her over with exaggerated motions, a ball at his feet. 

Feigning reluctance, she still shut her book with a smile. Travis and Will ran up from behind her, grabbing her by her elbows, and pulled her onto the park's open field.

Hermione laughed, smile broadening as she jogged along to the football field, pulling her thick hair up in a ponytail on the way. Trust the boys to think of football as a suitable distraction for her. Aunt Emma constantly complained that her boys were too obsessed with the sport and that somehow it meant it was bad for their (mental) health. She confided all these worries to Hermione without realizing that her lovely niece might have been a bit obsessed as well. Hermione didn't exactly play on a team like the rest of the boys, not because she didn't want to, but because she didn't trust herself. Football, despite being a 'no contact spot', still included heaps of discrete (and not so discrete) touches and nudges and jabs and pushes. If Hermione lost her temper during a game… well, it wouldn't be good. That's why she didn't play on a team with other boys and girls, and that's why Aunt Emma believed she didn't like football as much as the boys. It was surprising, because during the Manchester United games Hermione cheered and screamed with the best of them.

Drew, older, and more experienced then all of them put together played keeper, just to be fair, while Blake and Hermione, and Travis and Will scrimmaged two on two. Like anything between the four of them, the game got intense rather quickly. Especially half an hour later when the score was tied nil to nil.

After being tripped up by Travis three times and having her shirt tugged on more than good sportsmanship dictated she ignore, Hermione felt a twitch in her cheek that meant she was losing control.

And when she lost control bad things happened.

Not always of course. She wasn't a ticking time bomb or anything like that, but it was enough to make her cautious. She had noticed, as well as her cousins, a resounding pattern since she was six when Will had taken an involuntary dive in the pool. On the first day of first grade Tommy Randall chased her around the playground trying to kiss her, when he finally cornered her he fell down and hit his head; it was passed off as a case of the cooties. Later 'Doctor' Samantha Cunnings administered cootie shoots ("circle circle, dot dot, now you've got your cootie shot")to all the infected, including Hermione, so she was okay to socialize with again.

Once when she was playing football after school with Blake when she was seven, some older boy ran up, stole the ball they were using, and started juggling. He then had an 'accident' where 'he kicked' the ball 'too hard' and it broke his nose. Another time Brittany Peterson made fun of her for being a brown nosing know-it-all showoff because she always answered all of the teacher's questions in class; for the rest of the day whenever the teacher asked a question Brittany's hand rose on its own accord and wouldn't come down unless the teacher called on her.

And those were only a few of the more memorable occurrences.

The latest and worst of the incidents as of yet took place not four days ago when Uncle Andrew surprised the family with tickets to see Manchester United versus Arsenal game that he previously said they weren't going to be able to go to. They had spectacular seats right at midfield because Andrew used to play on Man U and now worked as a trainer. While Andrew was on the sidelines and Emma was getting something to drink with the twins, Drew, Blake, and Hermione went ahead to their seats, anxious for the start of the game. As soon as they reached them, they discovered two random boys were standing near their seats, teetering precariously over the railing and harassing the Arsenal players. Blake politely asked them to move and the nameless jerks laughed it off, stating they didn't take orders from trash, blatantly eyeing Drew and Blake. The two boys then began to bark at them, dubbing them darky mutts, along other nasty words, all because Aunt Emma was white and Uncle Andrew was black.

Those jerks' names were Dudley Dursley and Piers Polkiss; she found that out in the newspaper the following morning when the accident was reported. Piers Polkiss fell over the railing and down four and a half feet onto the concrete with the enormous Dudley Dursley coming soon after, landing on top of him. With the injuries they sustained they were both lucky to be alive. The fat one's distraught mother wanted charges brought on the despicable thugs who hurt her 'Dinky Duddydums so,' "and on his birth day too!", but fortunately there were plenty of witnesses to state that it was an accident; none of the children ever touched each other.

Hermione hated those boys for what they said, but to fall (or be pushed) and be broken and bleeding on a dirty concrete floor? She didn't wish that on anyone, and it was in no way her right to deal out that kind of punishment. She couldn't enjoy the rest of the game, and when she finally did read the newspaper the following morning and found out the fat kid damaged his spine, becoming paralyzed from the waist down, she threw up. That's how it had been for the last few days. She was beside herself; beating herself up to the point of nightmares, imaging the sickening sound of bones popping and breaking. Of the blond never walking again. It was horrible, but the boys were helping her, and Aunt Emma promised she would arrange a meeting so that they could visit the families later.

She shook her head and looked up to find Blake. Pressured from both sides he wildly passed the ball to her, praying that she could get to the wild kick in time, and snapping once and for all out of her trance she sprinted a ways to retrieve it before Will or Travis came after her. Feeling like showing off a bit, she did a Crife and a Rivelino for good measure before squaring off with a determined Drew. She had an open shot to goal, and she was going to take it. She planted her left foot firmly parallel to the ball and swung her right foot back, preparing to strike, when Will clipped her from behind and stole the ball away as she toppled gracelessly to the ground with a muffled "umph".

Hermione jumped up seconds later, wincing at her left leg which was scrapped up and sore, but still livid. "Will you can't do that! You tackled me from behind, you idiot! That's a foul!" she shouted heatedly.

Right before he kicked the ball (that he stole from her) he yelled back smiling smugly, "No fouls, remember?" Once he shot it Hermione knew it was going in even before it was halfway to the goal.

They were going to win, yet again.

And they cheated, yet again.

It wasn't fair, yet again.

And she lost control, yet again.

"NO!" she cried, unsure what she was screaming at, throwing her hand towards the ball. For a moment it wavered mid-trajectory, pausing as if unsure of what it wanted to do, and then it flew leisurely into Drew's gloveless palms.

"Not fair! That's cheating." Travis pointed out, stomping over, ready for a fight.

"No fouls, remember?" Blake laughed, loving the turn of events. He mockingly adopted the exact same smug expression Will had addressed Hermione with seconds earlier.

"It's not exactly a foul, is it _little brother_?" Travis spat back. "It's cheating."

"'S the same thing. Fouling, cheating. Tomayto, tomahto." Blake shrugged nonchalantly but couldn't keep the genuine smile off his face or away from his eyes. Travis swatted at him almost drunk with anger and Blake scooted nimbly out of the way, not deterred in the least. "Potayto, potahto."

Hermione wasn't listening to them argue; instead, her hand immediately flew to her gaping mouth. She couldn't believe it. Not again. She had done it again. She didn't want to. She didn't mean to. She could've hurt someone. She could've hurt her family. She had no control and she could've… and everybody saw…"Oh God," Hermione shook her head wide-eyed and shell-shocked.

Turning to Will she pleaded. "I didn't mean to. Will please. I didn't mean to. I didn't. I promise I didn't."

Will squinted at her, slightly baffled. Hermione appeared positively panicked. Why was she this upset? She didn't kill anybody. All she did was move a ball. She'd done stuff like this around them before and it never bothered her. Was she okay? How hard did she hit her head when she fell?

Drew came up from behind her, wrapping his arm around her shoulder, startling her for a second. "Hermione calm down. You didn't do anything," he reassured her.

"Yes I did," she said, looking away. Looking anywhere that her cousins weren't. Blake and Travis were still arguing good (okay, maybe not) naturedly about the difference between fouls and cheating, and Will divided his attention between them and Drew and Hermione, unsure which was more interesting.

"You didn't hurt anybody. It's okay. It's okay," he contradicted with certainty, murmuring comfortingly in her ear.

"How can you say that? It's not okay. It can't be okay," she moaned, pushing away from him. Suddenly her voice dropped to a low whisper. "I could've really hurt somebody Drew. Again."

"But you didn't," he protested firmly, slightly bewildered. His cousin didn't act like this.

"But I could've," Hermione protested stubbornly, staring off into space. Then strangely she deflated, crumpling into herself. "I can't control It Drew. I don't know what I'm going to do. And It's always there. I can't escape It. I used to not always be able to feel It, only when I got mad sometimes. But now, now I can feel It all the time. All the time Drew. Everywhere I go _It's_ _always there_. And I can't control It." She spoke softly, in a panicked rush, feeling somewhat better now that she had confided in Drew. Drew could fix this; he could help her, couldn't he?

She turned around to look up into her cousin's face. "What am I going to do Drew? I'm scared."

Drew was uncomfortable. What was she talking about? He didn't have all the answers; he didn't have the miracle solution. He knew Hermione and his brothers looked up to him, but he was only twelve. What was he supposed to do?

He figured he had been silent for too long when he saw Hermione's face break. She turned away from him and without thinking he reached out and grabbed her shoulder. "Hermoine. Hermione look at me!" he said forcefully. "It is okay. We'll just find some way to control it that's all."

"But-"

"Hermione, listen to me," he shook her as inspiration struck. "You read books like this all the time. The main characters have powers they don't understand or can't control, but that doesn't make them bad. They learn and they fix it. You will too. What about Matilda and Alanna and Ged and all those other characters you've read about?"

Blake sidled up beside them, "Yeah Hermione you're like Superman. This is so great, I've got my very own Marvel comic book series- and it's free!" he grinned blissfully, and he looked so ridiculously happy everyone started to laugh. Even Hermione smiled a bit.

Will slung an arm companionably around her shoulder and ruffled her hair, messing up her ponytail horrendously. "Yeah little cuz, we'll help you out."

She was genuinely smiling now and looked out towards Travis who nodded but grumbled bitterly. "I still say you cheated."

* * *

"So, umm… what do we do now?" Travis asked awkwardly, swinging his feet in boredom. 

They had all formed a circle around the dining room table to try to talk to and help Hermione train 'her powers'. They had collected every one of the necessary resources available to them: comic books like _X-Men, Superman, The Flash, _etc.; fantasy books _A Wizard of Earthsea, The Lord of the Rings _series, etc; books by Steven King they stole from their Mum's library (including _Firestarter_ and yes, even _Carrie_), the gigantic book of Hans Christain Anderson Fairytales, Disney movies and anything at all that might remotely deal with magic, placing it on the table in piles. Their mission seemed really cool and special, and they were all nervous and excited, especially Hermione.

Only when they say down at the table did they realize that they had no idea what to do or where to start.

"I think Hermione should try and move something with her mind." Will said finally after a few minutes, breaking the silence.

"Yeah," Blake quipped. "Move Will. You've done it before," he smiled innocently, leaning back in his chair with his hands clasped behind his head when Will glared at him.

"No," Drew disagreed. "In books and movies they always start off with something small like a piece of hay or a feather or whatever. Not something as heavy as a person."

"Yeah, Will's much too fat for a first try," Travis agreed quickly.

"What is this, Make Fun of Will Day? And you, you're my twin." Will said accusingly, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Maybe it is. And we're not identical, so there." Travis stuck out his tongue.

Hermione smiled and looked around at her cousins. They were so awesome to do this with her, for her. Hesitantly she spoke up. "So, what should I move?"

"How about this?" Drew asked, pulling out a Kleenex from his jean pocket and placing it on the center of the table.

"Alright," Hermione nodded setting to work, but then paused to glance between Drew and the tissue. "You haven't, uh, used it or anything have you?"

"No, of course not," he replied indignantly as Blake and the twins snickered openly.

With one last nod to assure herself of something, what she wasn't sure, she focused on her mission. Okay, play time's over. Time to roll up the sleeves and get down to business. She took a deep breath and focused more than she ever had in her entire life. '_Move_' she thought firmly, staring at the tissue. After a few minutes of repeating that word over and over in her mind each time more sternly, she decided to pick another word. She tried '_Up'_ and then '_Fly_' and then and then '_Levitate'_ and then '_Go'_ and then about fifty other words she could think of that had any relation at all to movement.

A headache started forming at her temples from looking at the tissue so long without blinking very much, and she was getting extremely frustrated from her failure. She was Hermione Granger, she didn't fail. 'What happened to being able to do anything I set my mind to?' she thought ironically and more than a little peeved.

"Come on Hermione, do something." Will whined, taping his fingertips against the table.

"Yeah, if you could move lard butt over there you have to be able to move a dinky tissue," Blake jabbed a thumb at Will, ducking quickly when Will swiped at him from across the table.

"I'm trying," she bit out irritably.

"Maybe you need to say it out loud," Drew pointed out helpfully.

"But Jean Grey doesn't from the X-Men doesn't need to say anything when she uses telekinesis," Travis argued, stumbling over telekinesis.

"Yeah, she just points at the object, clutches her head, or both," Will backed up his twin.

"Do I look like Jean Grey?"

"No. She's pretty."

"Just try it Hermione. It can't hurt." Drew said reasonably, giving a look that said _shut up if you know what's good for you_ to Will and Travis.

"Fine, but it's not going to work," she huffed but still shouted "_Up_!" while pointing at the tissue.

Nothing happened.

"Try _Alakazam_ or _Open_ _Sesame_," Will said seriously. When everybody turned to look at him incredulously he shrugged. "What? It worked for Aladdin."

"Maybe you have to have to ask nicely. You know, say 'please'. Mum did always say it was the magic word." Blake joked, making Hermione crack a smile despite herself.

"That was so lame." She laughed, but then went on to try all the 'magic words'. None of them worked, but they didn't really care; they were all having such a good time throwing out words and ridiculous phrases.

"_Abracadabra_!"

"_Hocus_ _Pocus_!"

"_Presto_ _change_!"

"_Shazam_!" they collapsed in a fit of giggles.

"Maybe you need a wand like the fairy Godmother from Cinderella. Then you could turn pumpkins into stuff, but instead of a carriage you could make… um… a go-cart!" Blake finished excitedly.

"No Blake, that's stupid. Hermione doesn't need a fruity wand; she's already done magic before without it. Plus she's not a fairy." Will paused for a second, hesitating. He turned to look at Hermione. "You're not a fairy, are you?"

"No. Do I have wings?" Hermione shot back both amused and offended.

"Maybe- maybe instead of a wand you need a staff, like Gandalf in_ Lord of the Rings._" Drew interrupted, rubbing his chin.

"Hey, I'm not a wizard. I'm a girl!"

"I witch then. Maybe we should get you cauldron. Boil, boil, toil and trouble," Drew teased.

"She's a witch! Burn her! Burn her!" Travis and Will quoted from _Monty Python and the Quest for the Holy Grail_ at the same time; a family favorite. Aunt Emma nearly had a fit when she found out Uncle Andrew let them watch everything, even the part with Zoot in the castle. When Travis slyly asked his mother what oral sex was Aunt Emma didn't stop speaking Italian for nearly half an hour.

"Whatever. We need to focus on what's important, and that's not important," Blake brushed it off. "What's important is that she could make us all go-carts and bicycles and dirt bikes! How cool would that be?!" he said eyes gleaming with eagerness, bouncing on his chair in anticipation.

"Make a dirt bike?" Hermione deadpanned, raising an eyebrow skeptically.

"Well, okay, maybe not dirt bikes since you're new at this," he waved his hand around, "and all, but try turning something into something else. How about a skateboard?" Blake responded hopefully.

"Yeah" Travis piped up grinning. "Or you could turn one of us into something. Instead of turning mice into people, you could turn Blake into a mouse." He prodded. "Go on, try it."

Hermione smiled back devilishly as Blake started to squirm in his chair slightly. "How?"

"Try Bipity Bopity Boo." Travis cracked, causing everyone to laugh as Hermione did an exaggerated impression of the fairy godmother.

"Put'em together and what've you got?" she sang, laughing as each of her cousins, except Blake, shouted the answer back at her.

"Hey Hermione, maybe you're like Luke Skywalker from Star Wars." Drew smiled, enjoying the turns things were taking even if it wasn't exactly productive. If Hermione was smiling it was worth it.

"Young Skywalker, use the force you must." Travis uttered gravely in Yoda-speak.

"Yeah Hermione, you could be a Jedi. That would be so awesome. Would you let me use your light-saber?" Blake asked eagerly, joking around again now that the whole turn-Blake-into-a-mouse thing had been forgotten.

"Sure," Hermione responded with an offhand gesture, indulging for a second in the thought of being a Jedi. She could develop her talent, be discovered by Obi-Wan and then travel all over the galaxy fighting the Empire.

Hermione's thoughts quickly turned into a full-fledged day dream. She was just about to unsheathe her light-saber and release a can of whoop ass on the so called Dark Lord of Sith when she was jolted out of her fantasy world abruptly. Travis snapped his fingers in front of her face. "Earth to Hermione. Hello. Anybody in there?" Hermione blinked rapidly, shaking off the after effects of the vision as he continued. "Well, go on. Tap into the Force or something."

"Yeah Hermione, in all seriousness we need to do something." Drew stepped in. "Try clearing your mind. The Void and the Flame, I read about that somewhere. Not really sure what it means though. Or maybe meditate like Mum's yoga videos? Try saying 'Ohm' and the like."

"Yeah, and you could try some of the poses too, like Downward Dog Breaks Wind,"

"Real witty Blake," Hermione responded, rolling her eyes.

"Yeah," he smiled and closed his eyes, basking in his own cleverness. "It was, wasn't it?"

"Let the girl get to it or we'll be here all night. I'm hungry," Travis broke in, grumbling sternly.

"Can you say bipolar?" Blake rolled his eyes and whispered so only Hermione could hear.

Poor, bipolar Travis didn't get his wish however. It was an hour later and much to everyone's frustrations, the damn tissue hadn't moved an inch.

"This is a waste of time."Will proclaimed angrily, moving to get out of his chair.

"I said I'm trying alright?" A frustrated Hermione shot back in much the same way.

Blake, who'd had his head resting on the table in boredom, shot up straight in his seat. "Whoa! You guys see that? The thing moved! It moved; I saw it!"

"Really?" Drew asked, almost pleadingly. "You're serious?"

"As a heart attack," Blake responded firmly.

Will scoffed. "Whatever. I can make it move more than that. Watch me." He bent down his head so it was level to the table and blew at the tissue, which fluttered and glided across the table several inches. "See, nothing to this crap."

Hermione rounded on him and narrowed her eyes, but Blake broke in. "No, I definitely saw it move- without being touched by anything."

"Hey," Drew said in revelation, like God had bent down and whispered in his ear, "Maybe we just need to get you mad Hermione. That seems to be the common theme doesn't it? It's pretty obvious, whenever you're mad, you can access the Force-your powers- whatever."

"Duh, but are you forgetting the fact that I can't control them then? Isn't the whole point of me doing this so that I'll be able to control whatever's going on? And now you want to make me mad?" Hermione responded unbelieving and a little ticked off despite herself.

"Yeah, but maybe this time you'll be able to concentrate on what the Force feels like when you lose control," Drew said vehemently. "… if that makes any sense at all," he added lamely a couple of seconds later.

"It doesn't," she answered stubbornly, crossing her arms and jutting her chin out.

"Oh, come on Hermione. Don't be a spoil sport. Let us try it." Blake persuaded.

"And it's not like it'll be particularly hard anyway." Travis replied with a careless gesture.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she ground out, slowly turning her head to face him, teeth clenching.

"Oh come on. It's not like it's a secret," Travis scoffed. "You have a temper Hermione- a bad one."

"No I don't. I'm perfectly reasonable. I'm the epitome of calm, cool, and collected; completely rational."

"What planet are you from Ms. Delusional-"

"Big word, you know what it means?" Hermione interrupted savagely, feeling something bubbling within her at this completely unwarranted attack. She was mentally exhausted, not to mention frustrated, and was not feeling like putting up with Travis' idiocy at the moment.

"-you are more emotional than a pregnant woman, you always rise to whatever bait is dangled in front of your nose-no matter how lame," Travis continued, ticking off each point on his fingers, ignoring Hermione.

"Do not," Hermione argued, feeling a pressure now, but not fully acknowledging it.

"See, you just proved my point. But that's okay. You can't help it, you're a girl. Your whole lot is just one great big emotional wreck. Weak," Travis responded smugly.

The tissue on the table burst into flames, and less than five seconds later all that remained were ashes and a charred mark at the center of the table. The Kleenex was no more. All the children gaped at the mark; that certainly wasn't what they were expecting.

Blake echoed what they were all thinking. "Well, that was new."

"Did you feel anything? Recognize anything?" Drew asked Hermione urgently, the second person to recover the use of his voice. Maybe after using up an entire afternoon they'd have a breakthrough.

"Yeah. Yeah, I think so! There was this pressure I felt building up in me- I've felt it before- and then I sort of pushed it out, but I'm not sure how I did it or if I did it on purpose. It was all really jumbled and unfocused."Hermione responded, voice sounding unsure as she was trying to remember everything that had happened and everything she had felt, but she was still excited.

"So all you have to do now is focus?" Will questioned.

"Yes and no. I need the pressure, I guess. And to focus- like I really have to want to do whatever I'm doing. Want, I think that's important. And then I have to control it-"

"You have to have a strong Will," Blake interrupted knowingly, smirking at his brother who frowned at the horrible pun.

"-and the pressure- the power- too." Hermione continued rambling. "It's all so confusing." She shook her head.

"Want, Will, and Power." Drew murmured, summarizing. Everyone was silent, sagely contemplating what this meant.

They had some progress, but not what the kind they wanted and not nearly enough. The quiet continued, no one was really sure how to break it until Travis looked around and frowned. "Alright, so who's telling Mum about the table?" He glanced at the burn on the expensive Mahogany. "Because it's not going to be me."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Hello all. So this is what my perspective of a twentieth century child's grasp on quote unquote magic. What with Star Wars, Tolkien, Disney, Fairy Tales, etc. I think it turned out fairly well. If I push it a little I covered charms, transfiguration, potions, and possibly even some defense against the dark arts (the tissue bursting into flame counts as a curse). That's practically half the Hogwart's curriculum! But don't worry, I won't make this easy for little Hermione.

In response to someone's comment about having a large family- here, here! My Mother has ten brothers and sisters, so I'm channeling our yearly family reunions when I write seens with the cousins. You haven't seen chaos until you've been to one. From Great Aunts and Uncles all the way down to the ikle second cousins- it's wild!

A great big thank you goes out to: Hermione Rulz, **Green Eyes,** dillon2, **LittleEar BigEar's sis, **wasu, **Teganii,** Davek86, & **silvane. **You guys rock my world.

Review and you too can have your name added to the list. Come on, everybody's doing it.


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